Kicking the Habit
by The Central Metric
Summary: Raynor likes to drink. It's understandable given what he's been through and the stress of his job. Now if only the rest of the ship would stop messing around with his damn whiskey!


**I have no idea where this idea came from. It bonked me on the head and I couldn't stop thinking about it. That said, I'm not so sure about my delivery.**

* * *

Jim stared at the bottle sitting across him. It was standing straight up and looked to be half-full with light brown sensory relieving fluid. Around him, he could vaguely hear the _Hyperion_ 's Adjutant saying something about thruster fuel and core energy levels. It was white noise to him. Swann could worry about whatever that was.

It wasn't often he had a break after all. Not after he just kickstarted the revolution for one more ball-breaking round with Mengsk. He could afford a couple hours of downtime.

His hands inched towards the bottle once more. No need for a shot glass here. A distinct voice cut through to him amidst the buzzing noises just as he wrapped his hand around the bottle, "-ominion Fleet was spotted patrolling around- Commander? Are you listening?"

Jim blinked at a tired-looking Matt. Matt was leaning on the starmap with his arms spread out to either side. Matt's gaze flickered from Jim to the bottle perched precariously on the edge of the starmap. Jim decided he didn't quite like the judgment in Matt's eyes.

Schooling his features, Jim quickly scanned the starmap before pointing at a reddish planet, "Set a course for Redstone III. That Tosh person might just get us the funds we need."

Matt's gaze didn't waver, but he nodded, "Of course, Commander." Jim nodded before slipping away from the bridge, the bottle still tucked neatly in his hand. Maybe he should keep the drinking to the cantina.

* * *

Tosh quietly observed Raynor from his corner in the cantina. The man looked to be watching the latest UNN news report and was absent-mindedly filling a shot glass with more whiskey. It was his third bottle for the past hour.

Inwardly, Tosh marveled at the man's impressive constitution. It looked almost like a daily ritual for him. Get up. Get dressed. Obliterate a few Dominion outposts and coordinate a rebellion. Drink to the tune of guitars in the cantina till the table is full of empty bottles. Sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Huh. It didn't matter too much to him anyway. As long as he was still able to fight against the Dominion, then it wasn't a problem. Still, Tosh mused, that much alcohol can't be good for anyone.

Down below, Jim felt the very brief, but consistent, glances coming from above. His teeth clenched a little as Donny droned on about rising prices for vespene gas. First Matt, now Tosh too?

Just a day or so ago, he found a few of the engineers hiding booze in their quarters. After a stern talking to, the chastened engineers revealed that they found written orders in their work areas telling them to eject the bottles out the airlock once they snuck them out the cantina. Jim didn't take to that very well and sent them off, telling them to not say a word.

Heavy footsteps coming from behind him signaled Tychus' arrival. Jim rolled his eyes as an armored finger prodded against his shoulder, "Hey Jimmy, where'd all the whiskey go? Barman said that they didn't have any left," Tychus' gravelly voice cutting over the broadcaster's report.

Jim's grip tightened around the shot glass, "What?"

Tychus paused. That was a strange tone. Peering down at Jim, he took in the bottles that littered the table, "Damn Jimmy, you're a straight mess."

Raynor ignored him, opting instead to stand up and head straight for the bar. The bartender, Cooper, was quietly chatting with a couple of off-duty personnel, but Jim wasn't too concerned with offending anybody when he took a seat right in front of the counter and quietly stared at Cooper. Tychus watched him leave and shook his head before snatching the half-empty bottle Jim left behind.

Cooper sensed Jim take a seat even as he idly reached beside him for a couple bottles of cheap booze. The unarmored marines weren't quite as subtle about it, with a couple of open stares as well as a sudden hush in their voices. Practically shoving the drinks at them and flicking his eyes to the side, Cooper put on his best smile, "What'll it be, Commander?"

Jim leaned forward, "A whiskey. Bourbon. Neat."

Cooper shook his head, "I'm afraid we're all out of it. You just took the last of it," he said, gesturing with a finger at the bottle Tychus was now draining. With a small sigh, Tychus put the bottle down before giving a thumbs up at both of them.

"I thought we filled up when we left Mar Sara. Where'd it all go?" Jim asked.

Cooper drummed his fingers on the bar counter, "Well, we had a couple hundred of them stored around the ship. Some of it went to the marines. A couple of the engineers like whiskey. But about a third of it went to you and we haven't really restocked for a couple o' weeks. Redstone doesn't exactly have much booze on it."

"Oh."

Cooper flipped out a little notepad tucked behind the counter, "We're also low on beer, vodka, and we're completely out of rum after ol' Tychus there had a party with the boys down at cybernetics. We still have plenty of cognac though."

Jim walked out of the cantina, leaving behind an empty bottle of cognac next to several other empty bottles. Milo Kachinsky watched as Cooper stepped out from behind the counter and started picking up the myriad of empty bottles scattered around Jim's table.

He turned silently to a couple of his other friends. Annabelle Thatcher was watching Jim leave, her shot of cognac left abandoned on the table. Lily Preston sat across him, her lips curled downwards.

Lily spoke after a moment of silence, "He's a drunk."

Annabelle looked conflicted, "He's still the Commander though. He's fighting the Dominion for our sake." Finally remembering the cognac on the table, she pushed it towards Kachinsky who took it with a grimace.

Milo looked at the shot glass, frowning at his reflection, "At this rate Ann, the drinking might kill him before the Dominion does."

"And I don't think all that alcohol helps him make smart decisions," Lily added.

The sound of twisting gears and a whirring motor alerted them to the presence of the chief engineer, "I know Jimmy ain't exactly a model citizen, but he's still the boss. And a damn good one at that."

Rory Swann grabbed a nearby seat with his mechanical hand before pulling it over and seating himself beside Milo, "And last I checked," he grumbled, "I was sure we didn't talk bad about our superiors behind their backs." He shot Milo a meaningful look.

"Look, kid," he started, "I know you mean well, but spacing a couple dozen bottles of booze ain't gonna do anything. It's also a fine waste of spirits too." With that, he took the shot of cognac from in front of Milo and downed it, "Now that, that's a drink."

Milo averted his gaze, "Alright boss, but something's gotta be done! It's not alright if every time the boys see him, he's drowning himself in the cantina. People are talking."

Swann sighed, "Fine. I'll go talk to him, maybe make him tone it down a little."

Up above, Tosh watched as Swann made his way out of the cantina. His lip twitched. Maybe this'll be fun to watch.

* * *

Raynor's Raiders rushed over to Agria, snagging schematics for the Firebat suit. A dropship coming from the _Hyperion_ dropped two firebats and two medics close to the distress call's coordinates.

And Lily Preston calmly raised her medpack even as the zerglings rushed towards the firebats who were unloading their fiery armaments on them.

"Someone ask for a light?" a firebat snickered. Lily rolled her eyes at that. The zerglings just kept coming, a couple of them even clawing at the suit she wore before getting roasted.

Lily ignored them to the best of her ability but did occasionally pause to aim her medpack at herself. Always take care of yourself before others was the motto she took.

She paused for a bit, catching a bright blue glow in the corner of her eye. "Wait, mineral cache over there!" she called out with her suit speakers. One of the firebats immediately split off. Her fellow medic waved her off, "Go! We'll be fine."

The sounds of gunfire as Agrian marines joined in the defense assured Lily before she dashed off with the firebat. As she approached, Lily wrinkled her nose as the two approached the sides of the nearby fields. That smell, piercing past her suit's natural olfactory filter, was a familiar one. The acrid smell of alcohol caught up to her as she caught sight of the firebat pushing aside a crateload of minerals before whistling. "Old papa's got a storehouse here."

Behind the minerals was a storehouse containing several boxes of alcohol. The smell came from several shattered bottles from fallen crates with zergling claw marks on them.

The firebat turned to her, "We don't have booze up in the _Hyperion_ right? Raynor might appreciate this. Might cough up some credits for the rescue too."

Damn it. No amount of credits was worth a drunken Commander leading them against the Dominion. Thinking quickly, Lily hurriedly barked a response, "That's a negative. It's been in close proximity to the Zerg. Might be infected."

"Hmmph. Fine," the firebat sighed out before picking up the mineral crate instead.

Lily shook her head. A possible disaster was avoided, and hopefully the rest of the crew would avoid restocking too.

The rest of the mission proceeded smoothly, although refugees would complain about the confiscation and destruction of all consumables, including alcohol, by the local Raiders citing Zerg infestation as the cause.

* * *

James Raynor tromped down the halls of the _Hyperion_ in a foul mood. If Tychus were around, he'd have called it a temper tantrum. Fortunately for Tychus, he was wise enough not to poke the hydralisk and left Jim alone.

The firebat recruits were settling aboard the _Hyperion_ just fine. So fine, in fact, that they partied hard in the cantina.

In their suits.

The resulting mix of alcohol and fire didn't reap any casualties. Except for all the booze. Every. Single. Drop.

He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know why. But the resulting switch in janitorial staff on the _Hyperion_ made sure that everybody knew he was pissed.

To make matters worse, the nearest black market network was a good few days away. And even then, it wasn't a guarantee that they'd be there. Damn slippery smugglers. Maybe he should stop by Deadman's Port for a little resupply? And maybe a couple security safes would help keep his personal stash intact.

He patted the light flask hanging on the side of his belt. Only a single flask's worth of whiskey was left. Better make it count.

Then the lights in the hallways began to flicker.

Milo peeked around the corner. A few off-duty marines were hanging about further down. Nobody else in sight. Whistling a little catchy tune, he tromped down the hall with a crate in his hands.

The marines paid him no heed as he passed through them on his way to the hangar. Good. Nobody suspected a thing.

He made a beeline straight for one corner once he reached the hangar. A couple of pilots were hanging about in the corner and nobody else was approaching them. Hel's Angels were a reclusive bunch. A bunch of hardasses who were professional on the field, but quiet otherwise. They disliked outsiders.

Unless said outsider had booze, and that was what he was counting on.

He was almost there too when a metal claw clamped down on his shoulder, "Hey sport, whatcha got there?"

Milo coolly turned around, "Some booze. Thought the Angels could use a little fixer-upper."

Swann met his gaze with one that spoke of thinly veiled impatience, "I thought we talked about this, Kachinsky. I said I'd talk to the Commander 'bout the drinking."

"Did you?"

* * *

" _Hey Chief, hate to break it to ya, but a bunch of the boys aren't really likin' the way you drink all the time."_

" _The boys can mind their own damn business. If they don't like what I do, they can make their own revolution."_

" _Geez cowboy, fine. I'll simmer down about it, but the boys won't be happy."_

" _If they have a problem with me, they can say it to my face. Now Swann, I gotta favor to ask from you."_

* * *

Swann twisted a gear on his claw absent-mindedly, "Well, yeah. Didn't work out, but c'mon Creep, give him a break," he argued, "The Commander's got bigger fish to fry than his drinkin' problem. And you've got stuff to work on too! I don't wanna hear about any more hare-brained schemes, alright?"

Milo sighed before looking down at the crate in his hands, "Fine. How'd you catch me anyway?"

"Oh, uh," Swann took the crate from Milo before tromping away.

"He asked me to put silent alarms on those safes you have in this box. They've got trackers and a firewall too, a literal one if you opened it without the right keycard. Mini auto-turrets, neosteel plating, and a taser that can shock right through CMC armor if it detected a different signature to Raynor's. The works. Pretty damn lucky I caught ya before you opened it."

Milo stared at Swann's back as he walked down the hall and the doors closed behind him.

* * *

After Raynor took down Tychus in the cantina, nobody dared question their Commander anymore. Mysteriously enough, there were no more 'bottles in space' incidents.

Milo had faith in his Commander now. But for some reason, he'd make sure that Raynor's armaments were handled only by Swann. And he made sure to keep a wide berth around the Commander's Quarters.

Everyone else just shrugged and moved on. A revolution still had to be fought and the zerg still had to be destroyed.

* * *

 **And that's about it for this story. The ending was a bit of a cop-out, but I ran out of inspiration and struggled to find a conclusion. In the end, I figured it'd be better to get it out and get some criticism rather than have a never-finished word document on my computer. Characterization's still not as good as I want it to be, but I hope I'll improve in the future.**


End file.
